


Tiny Dancer

by thatchoirperson, The3rdTrumpeteer



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Birthday, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, New Years, Slow Burn, Thanksgiving Dinner, dance teacher/accompanist au, get ready for some fluff, these dorks are so awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-04-07 04:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14073075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatchoirperson/pseuds/thatchoirperson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The3rdTrumpeteer/pseuds/The3rdTrumpeteer
Summary: Spot and Race haven't seen each other in ages. But suddenly they're seeing each other every day when Spot, who has been playing piano around New York, is hired as the accompanist for Race's dance classes.So the two rekindle their friendship.And that's all it is.A friendship.Or is it?(Sprace Ballet Teacher/Accompanist AU Slow Burn)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm bringing this over from my Tumblr account (https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/)  
> A fic I'm writing with the wonderful fucking-petticoated-swashbuckler (https://fucking-petticoated-swashbuckler.tumblr.com/)...follow her, she's fantastic  
> And here's a link if you want to read the chapter on Tumblr! - https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/post/171809918708/tiny-dancer-part-1

The door creaked open as Race turned the key and slipped it carefully out of the lock and into his pocket. The deserted lobby of the studio -the smell of lingering hairspray, the heater humming as it started up, and the lights flickering on- they fabricated a safe, comforting atmosphere. Race’s haven.

He stepped inside, out of the cold November breeze. Unlocking the door to his studio, he set down his bag and took out a worn pair of black canvas ballet slippers, then set them beside him.

He glanced up at the clock. 9:17. Thirteen minutes until his class started. He plugged his phone into the speaker and threw his jacket onto his chair. Led Zeppelin filled the room as he started to dance.

Just small things: some rond de jambes, a few turns.

He could hear students and other teachers start to fill the lobby outside, laughing and talking. Waiting. Race kept dancing, allowing his movements to get larger and more complicated as he warmed up. The next song began, and his dancing started to take up the entire room.

The song ended almost abruptly at the same time as the chatter in the lobby suddenly fizzled out. Race heard the front door close, then the whispers of his students’ conversations started again.

Race only had time to be confused for a moment before a firm knock sounded on the door of the studio. He pulled the door open and did a double take.

Spot Conlon leaned casually against the doorframe. “Hey, Higgins.”

“Spot? What’re you-“

“Doin’ here? I’m your new accompanist. Remember?”

Before Race could process this, Spot had walked over to the piano. “Class is about ta start. You might wanna, ya know, invite the girls in?”

Race shook his head to clear his confusion, then nodded quickly. “Yeah- yeah, I just… I didn’t know you played much piano.” He could feel his face getting hot. Turning red. He grabbed his water bottle and took a sip. “Never mind.”

As he set down his water, the door opened and about fifteen girls rushed to the barre. Each wore an identical black leotard and pink tights and had her hair pulled back into a neat, tight bun.

“Alright, ladies. Pliés. Same combination as last week.” Race was acutely aware of Spot’s eyes still on him, waiting for instruction. He gave the tempo and let his gaze wander to Spot’s fingers, which had started moving gracefully and deliberately across the keyboard.

Race walked slowly back and forth next to the barre, giving corrections. Adjusting a hand here, alignment there. Spot continued to play perfectly, alternating between pieces Race recognized, but also a few that seemed to be improvised.

The révérence music concluded, and Race stood impatiently as each student thanked him and left the room. He waited a few seconds after the door had closed a final time before turning to Spot, who had stood up and walked around the piano.

Race took a breath. “Nice… uh, nice job. Really great. You’re… very talented.”

The corner of Spot’s mouth turned up slightly. He nodded. “Thanks.”

Race turned to pick up his jacket, then remembered something and glanced back at Spot. “That piece you played… for développés? Was that-”

“The same développé music from when we were kids? Yeah, it was.” Spot paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Surprised ya noticed.”

Race couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “I haven’t heard it in years. Really took me back.”

Spot chuckled. “That why ya weren’t paying attention ta the class?”

“Must be that, yeah.” Race forced out a little laugh, his face turning the tiniest bit pinker. “Haven’t seen you in months. Where’ve you been?”

Spot shrugged. “Been playin’ around the city. Odd jobs, bars, this and that.”

That was vague, but Race knew from experience that Spot wasn’t one to give a lot of details about his life, so he just nodded.

“Cool, cool.”

“Whaddabout you, Higgins? Anythin’ interesting?”

Race bit his lip momentarily before responding. “Just… ya know, classes. This.” He gestured around at the studio. “Mostly teaching, yeah.”

Spot nodded, an approving smile spreading across his face. “Well, you’re pretty good. You’d make any of our old teachers proud.”

That damn blush was back with a vengeance; Race could feel it creeping up his neck. “Thanks, Spot.” Of course his voice had to crack. For a second he wondered if Spot had noticed, and by his grin, he had. Shit.

Spot stifled a laugh. “See ya tomorrow, I guess?”

Race nodded perhaps a bit too quickly, smiling involuntarily. He took a deep breath. “Yeah. See you tomorrow, Spot.”


	2. Chapter 2

So far, Spot seemed to be the only one who cared about timeliness.

He was slowly sinking into Jack and Specs’ couch, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Specs rushed around the kitchen, assuring Spot he didn’t need to help, just relax. The whole apartment smelled of turkey. If Spot turned his head, he could see the two birds roasting in the oven.

He stood up again when someone knocked loudly on the door. He walked over and exhaled slowly before turning the knob, trying to calm his accelerating heart rate.

Davey stood in the doorway, out of breath and flushed. Spot sighed internally.

“You’re late,” he laughed. “For the first time in your goddamn life.”

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry, it’s been fifteen-”

“No one else is here yet, Dave. You’re fine.” As Spot said it, his heart sank a little, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. He knew it was only a matter of time before everyone else showed up, and it wasn’t like he was waiting for someone in particular.

Was he?

Davey had taken off his coat and walked to the kitchen to chat with Specs and Jack, who had just come out of the bedroom. Spot sat back down on the couch. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone just yet, especially since there were only four of them there. Instead, he let his mind wander for a few minutes, thinking back to what he had done that week. Bought some groceries, gone to the gym, accompanied Race’s dance class again…

As soon as he thought about Race, Spot felt his face get hot, and he quickly shook his head. He grabbed his glass of water and took a long drink. He and Race were just friends, co-workers. They hadn’t even seen each other in months before a few weeks ago. Besides, Race didn’t even think of him that way.

Wait. Did Spot think of Race that way?

He didn’t have any more time to think about it, though, because then there was another knock at the door. Spot got off the couch again and pulled the door open, but this time it was Mush and Blink, Smalls and JoJo right behind them. Mush held a bottle of wine. Spot couldn’t stop a wave of disappointment from washing over him even as he greeted them. He stubbornly stamped it down.

“Specs is still cookin’, and Jack and Davey are talkin’ in the kitchen.” Spot nodded at Mush. “I don’t know where Specs wants that…I’m guessin’ the table.”

“Yeah, that’s a good place!” Specs called from the kitchen, where he was pulling one of the turkeys out of the oven. Mush walked over to set down the bottle, and the other three sat in various places around the living room. Spot closed the door and walked into the kitchen.

He needed a beer.

Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, the rest of the newsies trickled in. Romeo, Elmer, and Albert arrived, the latter two already engaged in a deep conversation involving something about Bigfoot and aliens. Then came Crutchie, carrying about seven pies with the help of Finch and Les, then Mike and Ike and Buttons, then finally Katherine and Sarah. After an hour, Spot was ready to explode. At this point, he had accepted the fact that he was, in fact, waiting for Race.

So where the hell was he?

“Someone’s always late on Thanksgiving.” Specs laughed and turned to Jack. “Wasn’t it you last year?”

“It wasn’t my fault we forgot the turkey!”

“Yes, it was!” Specs laughed again, turned to Spot. “And the year before that, it was Smalls. Unbelievable… people can’t make it a priority to get to family Thanksgiving dinners on time.”

Spot chuckled, but it was forced.

By that point, all the food was cooked and waiting on the table. Everyone else chatted cheerfully in the living room, obviously more patient than Spot, who was resisting the urge to grab another beer until he had eaten something. He turned to Specs, who was setting out plates and silverware. “Maybe we should…call ‘im or somethin’.” He tried to sound casual. It must have worked, because Specs nodded and reached for his phone.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Hang on-”

A heavy knock sounded at the front door before Specs could dial. Knowing exactly who it must be, Spot turned away from Specs and, as subtle as he could make it, took a deep breath before turning back as Jack pulled the door open.

Race walked in slowly, panting and red-faced. As he got closer, Spot could see the sweat glistening on Race’s forehead. He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes.

“Sorry I’m late.” Race’s voice was breathy, but still as strong as ever. “I must’a lost track of time. I was at the studio.”

Dancing. Of course. As always. Spot realized he’d been holding his breath.

“‘Bout time you showed up, Higgins,” he said, maybe a little too loudly. He lowered his voice a bit. “We almost started eatin’ without ya.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Race replied with a laugh. “I’ve been dancing for three hours and just ran up four flights of stairs. If anyone needs to eat, it’s me.”

There was a moment before Albert broke the silence with a chuckle, then soon enough everyone was laughing. Specs’ voice silenced the group after what seemed like an unbearably long time.

“Alright everyone, find a seat. Plenty of turkey and carbs for everyone, with a limited veggie selection, per requests in last year’s suggestion box.” The laughter started up again as quickly as it had stopped.

“Gimme a sec before we eat,” Race said loudly, evidently trying to be heard over the rest of the group. “… bathroom.”

Spot rolled his eyes and set his second beer down on the table. Race came back out about two minutes later, his face washed. He smelled significantly nicer as he sat down in the empty chair next to Spot.

Everyone started grabbing food and passing the dishes around. And Spot definitely didn’t feel anything when Race’s hand brushed his as he passed him a plate. Or when he passed him the macaroni and cheese, and his fingers seemed to linger a little longer on Spot’s. Nope, Spot felt nothing. Nothing at all.

Desperate to break the tension, he nudged Race’s arm with his elbow. “Havin’ fun teaching your beginners to spot?”

Race groaned and shook his head. “Why can’t these teenagers just understand that you just look at one single place for the whole turn?” He chuckled. “Sometimes it seems like they’ll never end up completing a single pirouette.”

“How many can you do again, Higgins?”

Race pensively looked into his mountain of mashed potatoes for a moment. “You talking fouettés or normal pirouettes?”

“Both?” Spot shook his head and smiled. “And I’m expectin’ proof.”

“Challenge accepted.” Race stood up and started to push his chair in. “I think my record is eight or nine pirouettes? Better try before I gain too much weight.”

“And fouettés?” Spot’s eyes tracked Race’s path away from the table. “I think your leg might be a bit too long to do those in here without breakin’ anythin’.”

“I’ve seen him do plenty of turns, but he’s had about three glasses of wine, Spot,” Sarah interjected with a laugh. “Get back here, Race. You can show off when you’re sober and have the balance to keep your turning axis upright.”

Race came back to the table with a sheepish grin. He punched Spot lightly in the arm. “You tryin’ to kill me, Conlon?”

Spot could feel himself blushing again and hoped everyone would think it was the alcohol. “Maybe?” He joked tentatively as he turned back to his cranberry sauce. Race laughed and bumped Spot’s shoulder playfully with his own, and Spot felt his face get even hotter. His throat started to feel tight, like he couldn’t breathe. He pushed out a laugh, then another. The last one sounded less forced. Finally.

That got everyone else laughing again, and Race, probably mostly because of the wine he had drunk, laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. As it was, he was leaning heavily on Spot by the time the laughs turned to drunk giggles and then stopped completely.

Maybe it was just the alcohol, but Spot found that he didn’t mind Race leaning on him one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/  
> My co-author's tumblr: https://fucking-petticoated-swashbuckler.tumblr.com/  
> Read Chapter 2 on tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/post/171839306883/tiny-dancer-part-2


	3. Chapter 3

Twenty-six.

Race didn’t like thinking about aging. Or growing up.

But here he was. His twenty-sixth birthday. And it didn’t feel like this year’s birthday would be that unbearable. At least, as an adult, he had his freedom to not grow up if he wanted.

He blinked open his eyes and rolled over to grab his phone. December 11th. 7:12 am. And already quite a few “happy birthday” messages.

At least one from everyone, it seemed. Except for Spot.

Not that Race cared. It was only 7. Well, 7:13, now. But he wasn’t keeping track of the time. He didn’t even like his birthday that much. Of course he wouldn’t care.

He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed before standing up and walking to the kitchen.

It was like every other morning. Breakfast. Shower. Get dressed.

He walked out the door at 8:45 sharp, as usual. Took the subway to the dance studio. At least no one in his classes knew it was his birthday.

The studio was already unlocked when he walked in, and the other teachers were teaching their own classes. A few of his students were sitting in the lobby. Greeting them as he passed, he opened the door to his own studio and walked inside.

Spot was already there, waiting at the piano, his fingers flying absentmindedly across the keys as he played a few scales.

Race managed to tear his eyes away from Spot’s fingers and nodded in his direction before crossing to the other side of the room to set down his things. “Morning.”

Spot smirked. “Happy birthday, Higgins.” Damn it, he remembered. “You feel old yet?”

Race snorted. “Still younger than you, Conlon.”

“By seven months.”

“Whatever.”

Spot laughed. “You excited for whatever Sarah decided to plan?”

“You going to that too?” Race felt his face get hot. He turned to the mirror. Thank god he wasn’t blushing. His heart started racing as he turned back and saw the right side of Spot’s mouth still turned up in a playful half-smile, his eyebrows raised almost antagonistically.

“I thought I’d drop by,” Spot replied. “It’ll be fun to watch ya get drunk off yer ass.”

Race forced out a laugh, but inside he was already panicking. Great. Wonderful. How was Race supposed to have fun if he had to concentrate on speaking like a normal person? Why did he even get like this around Spot? It wasn’t like he even liked him that much.

Well, he was a friend. But Race couldn’t understand why he seemed to subconsciously think of Spot as more than that. After all, that was all Spot thought of him as, right? Just a friend. A co-worker. A-

The door opened and his class entered the studio, effectively interrupting his mthoughts. When they’d all reached their spots at the barre, he started to teach the new plié combination.

“Demi, relevé, demi, stretch, grand…” His gaze kept wandering over toward the piano as he recited the combination, struggling to remember the steps; they seemed to escape his mind every time he glanced in Spot’s direction.

Each new combination he had to teach seemed harder to remember as the class went on. The dancers stood patiently as Race tried with great difficulty to recall his choreography, wishing he’d had the foresight to at least write them down. All he could seem to focus on was Spot Conlon- the way he always seemed to incline his head to the right whenever he was concentrating, how his movements at the piano were minimalistic but the passion and intensity stayed.

How he’d played the same développé music every class since the first.

And how Race’s développé choreography had begun to cater more and more to that music.

Race was relieved when his first class came to an end. “Révérence. You can improv today. Spot, can we please have 32-”

“Bars. As always.”

Race let the class giggle for a second before responding. “Thank you. One, two, three, four…”

Just two more classes. Then he could go home before his party.

In his years of dancing, classes had never passed by so slowly. Maybe it was the fact that, despite his denial, he was a little excited about his birthday. Maybe it was because he just couldn’t stop staring at Spot, that he just never wanted his graceful fingers to stop-

No, it was definitely the first thing. He was just anxious to get home.

Finally, the last student was out the door, and Race crossed the room to where his stuff sat, grabbing his bag and coat. He turned to where Spot still sat at the piano. “Uh…you leaving?”

“Eventually.” Spot glanced at Race, and Race had to pretend that the look didn’t leave his heart beating a little faster. “I’m just gonna play a little more, if that’s okay.”

“Oh…oh yeah, sure.”

Spot began to play again, another piece, slower than any of the dance music he had played before. It was beautiful, and, by the way Spot’s fingers flew up and down the keys, adding grace notes here and there, lilts and complicated rhythms, probably almost completely improvised, though Race could’ve sworn he detected some Chopin.

Spot paused for a moment and looked up to see Race still standing there, captivated by the music.

“No, no, keep playing. It’s amazing.” Race hoped Spot couldn’t see the embarrassment on his face.

“If you’re gonna stay, at least don’t just stand there,” Spot joked. “I never got to see ya dance on Thanksgivin’.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Race nodded maybe a bit too enthusiastically. As Spot started playing again, less somber this time, Race tendued tentatively before taking off his jacket and shoes and dropping them on the floor.

Tendu devant. Chassé. Arabesque.

As he began to dance, his movements became more fluid. Less awkward.

Enveloppé to attitude derrière. Penché. Allongé, then cloche to tendu.

His movements began to move him out of the corner. Countless chaînés and piqué turns carried him across the floor. The sequence of steps flowed more naturally to Race than speaking or breathing. He barely thought about what he was doing when he danced.

Développé 2… 3… 4… rond de jambe en l’air, fondu, relevé…

He almost forgot that Spot was in the studio with him.

Glissade, saut de chat. Land in arabesque.

Almost.

“You’re quite the dancer, Higgins.” Spot’s voice startled Race out of his reverie, and he stumbled. He recovered quickly, but he could feel his face flush, and not entirely because of all the dancing he had just done. Damn it.

“Thanks. You’re quite the pianist.” A thought occurred to him. “I haven’t seen you dance since we were in high school. You still dance much?”

“On occasion.” That was it. No further explanation. “Come on, it’s gettin’ late. Better get ya cleaned up before the party.”

“Um…yeah, you’re right.” Race put his coat and shoes back on and grabbed his bag. He waited by the door while Spot closed the piano and grabbed his own things. They walked out the door together, and Spot waited until Race had locked his studio. Then they left the building, stepping out into the cold December air.

“Well, I’ll see ya at the bar,” Spot said, turning to walk down the sidewalk; he lived in the opposite direction of Race.

“Wait!” Race called before he could stop himself. “You could just, uh…come back with me. I mean-” thank god for winter, the cold air was stopping the heat from rising into his cheeks “-my place is a little closer, and I can take a quick shower, and we can just go. Split a cab or something.”

A confused expression barely flitted across Spot’s face. His nose had turned pink at the tip from the cold. Then he nodded. “Sure.”

Race could barely keep himself from grinning. “Cool. Let’s go.”

It felt weird to shower while Spot sat alone in Race’s living room, even though he’d been the one to suggest this plan.Trying not to make it any more awkward than he already felt it was, Race finished quickly and got dressed. He walked out of the bathroom in fresh clothes, his hair still noticeably damp. Spot was sitting on the couch, on his phone, and he stood up when Race came out into the living room.

“Ya look good…I mean, at least you’re not sweaty anymore, they wouldn’t’a let you into the bar.”

Race laughed as he rolled his eyes. He started walking toward Spot. “Ready to go?”

“Sure ya won’t freeze?” Race involuntarily held his breath as Spot reached up and tousled his hair. “It’s pretty cold outside. That-” He gestured at Race’s wet hair. “That’s not gonna help.”

Race forced another nervous laugh as he struggled to remember how to breathe and worked to slow his heart rate. “I might have a beanie somewhere? But that won’t help my hair dry.”

“Oh, here.” Spot reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a dark red beanie. “I got this if ya wanna borrow it.”

“Why do you have-” Race shook his head and took the beanie from Spot. “Nevermind… thanks.”

It smelled like Spot’s shampoo, tea tree oil with a hint of sandalwood, a combination that complimented the scent of what Race assumed was his cologne? Deodorant? Whatever it was smelled faintly of musk and made Race want to just close his eyes and take it in.

“Alright, we goin’ or what?” Race looked up to see that Spot was standing at the door. When had he moved?

“Uh…yeah, let’s go.”

They hailed a cab outside the building; the bar wasn’t far, but it was way too cold to be walking. And when the car pulled up to the curb, Race ignored his accelerating heart rate when Spot opened the door for him, and when Spot sat a little closer to him than seemed normal, and when Spot leaned forward to pay the cabbie for the ride (“the birthday boy shouldn’t pay for the cab”) and put his hand on Race’s shoulder in a way that was casual but was it casual oh god-

“We’re here.”

Race glanced out the window, and sure enough, there was the bar. Spot was already opening the door and sliding out of the cab, and Race got out behind him.

The bar was fairly crowded, but it wasn’t hard to find Sarah and the others, especially when she stood up from the table and yelled “Race!” across the room.

“Hey, Sarah!” Race called, making his way to the table with Spot close behind. “This is a great place you chose, thanks.”

“Nothing but the best for the birthday boy.” Sarah leaned close, a conspiratorial grin spreading across her face. “And you and Spot came together, huh?”

“You do realize we work together, right? And we, you know, had work today?” Race felt himself blush yet again.

“That why you’re wearing his hat?” Sarah smirked. “And-” she sniffed. “You smell like him too?”

“Fuck off, Sarah. Nothin’ happened.” Spot came to his rescue quickly, a frown on his face. Thank god. “It’s ‘is birthday. Leave ‘im alone.”

“Alright, alright.” Sarah held up her hands in mock surrender. She gestured to two empty seats between Crutchie and Specs. “You guys sit down. We’re gonna have a good time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/  
> My co-author's tumblr: https://fucking-petticoated-swashbuckler.tumblr.com/  
> Read Chapter 3 on tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/post/171898990053/tiny-dancer-part-3


	4. Chapter 4

There was a perfect, undisturbed layer of fresh snow on the balcony outside when Spot walked through his living room to the kitchen. The sunrise and the lights strung up outside the buildings illuminated each small patch of snow that had yet to be ruined by cars or pedestrians, causing it to glimmer and sparkle elegantly.

Spot made himself an espresso and stared out the window. The roads below were empty and quiet, save for the odd bus or truck; everyone was sleeping in on Christmas, it seemed. Spot checked his watch - it was only 7:57. He had more than a few hours before he had to leave for the gathering at Specs and Jack’s place.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he walked over to the couch and collapsed, sinking comfortably into the cushions. His mind wandered back to a few weeks ago, when they’d all drawn names for the gift exchange.

He still wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t a conspiracy on his friends’ part that he drew Race’s name. Especially since moments before, Race had drawn Spot’s.

Spot remembered all their friends laughing about it; Sarah had even nudged his arm with her elbow and whispered something about it being “meant to be”.

What was he even supposed to give to Race? Did he like anything aside from ballet?

Oh, yes. Of course he did. He also liked tap. And hip hop. And jazz.

Spot had realized while shopping for the gift that he didn’t really know much about Race at all. His first thought was a poster of Baryshnikov, before he remembered he’d seen two already in Race’s apartment a week prior. So Baryshnikov was out.

Of course, he wanted to impress Race. Give him a personal gift. They’d been working together every day for almost two months now. They were friends. Friends gave each other personal, thoughtful gifts. Gifts that said “you mean a lot to me”, gifts that said-

Why was he so worried about this? Sure, he had spent the past couple weeks after the name drawing stressing over the perfect gift to get Race, until he had finally found something suitable. He may have asked Race a few pointed questions, trying to get more hints about what he liked. But that was just what people did when they cared about their friends.

Right?

At least the whole gift thing had become a distraction. His heart still skipped a beat when he saw Race casually showing off his 180 degree développés to his classes, but he felt more comfortable around him now. Less awkward. It gave him less time to wonder whether Race was intentionally trying to prove he was a dance god, or if he was just so amazingly talented that it was just out of habit that every movement was perfect, from the smallest tendu to the most technically challenging jump sequence.

Why was it that dance seemed to bring out qualities you wouldn’t expect that person to be able to exhibit? Ballet turned Race from an obnoxious, full-of-energy, childish person into someone with discipline. Precision. From someone you couldn’t possibly keep up with in any capacity to someone patient and almost mature. When Race danced, he was the epitome of grace, every step exact get still relaxed. In short…beautiful.

Woah, where did that come from? Spot shook his head vehemently, stood up from the couch and poured himself a glass of cold water in the kitchen.

Christmas. It was Christmas. He needed to stop thinking about work. About Race. Jesus, why was his whole life centered around Race now? It was probably because they were spending so much time together after months of not seeing each other at all. Yeah, that made sense. But he saw other people a lot, too. He had just seen Smalls and JoJo the other night! And he wasn’t thinking so much about them. There was just something about Race-

A loud knock at the door interrupted Spot’s thoughts. Thank god.

He left his glass in the kitchen sink and crossed the living room. When he opened the door, he found Sarah standing there, dressed in a Hanukkah sweater and grinning from ear to ear.

“Sarah?” Spot said, feeling confused even as he stepped aside to let Sarah come in. “It’s only eight-thirty. We don’t hafta to be at Jack and Specs’ till twelve.”

“C’mon, Spot, where’s your holiday spirit?” Sarah asked. “I thought we could go get breakfast before we go. Me and you. We haven’t hung out together in weeks!”

“I saw you yesterday.”

“Yeah, but I was with Les and Davey. It’s not the same.”

Spot shook his head and smiled. “You were saying something about breakfast?”

“I knew food would be what it took to get my best friend to hang out with me for once in his life.”

This time Spot laughed. “Alright, just give me twenty minutes so I can shower.”

“Twenty… Spot, you look and smell fine and I’m hungry,” Sarah whined, feigning impatience but still obviously fighting off a laugh of her own.

Spot rolled his eyes. “Make toast. Or there’s leftover pasta in the fridge. I don’t care. Help yourself.”

Sarah groaned dramatically. “Fine. Just be quick so I don’t waste away. Come on, Spot, it’s Christmas. Catholic act of charity, or some shit?”

“One: you’re Jewish. Two: what’s the act of charity? Showerin’ quickly so you can eat?”

“Um…yes. ‘Ubi caritas et amor deus ibi est,’ bitch. Or whatever you catholics say. You’ve made me listen to at least ten settings, probably.”

“Come on. Ola Gjeilo’s Ubi Caritas is perfection and you know it.” He glanced at his watch. 8:36. “You know what, yeah. I’ll shower as fast as you- no, not as fast as you want me to. I’ll be out and dressed in twelve and a half minutes. Time me.”

“Alright.” Sarah flopped onto Spot’s couch and took out her phone. “Ready…set…go.”

When he walked out of his room, Sarah nodded approvingly. “Twelve minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Nice job.”

“Told you I could do it,” Spot replied with a smirk. “Now let’s go get some breakfast.”

The place Sarah had chosen was a nice little diner that was thankfully open on holidays.

“So.” Sarah leaned forward excitedly, her elbows on the table and her hands supporting her head. “What’d you get Race?”

Spot sarcastically mirrored Sarah’s pose. “You’ll find out in…” 9:02. “… about four hours. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Alright, I can be patient. So…” Sarah took a slow sip of her coffee before speaking again. “Speaking of you and Race…”

Spot felt his breath catch. “Yeah, what about me and Race?”

Sarah raised her eyebrows and exhaled accusingly with a teasing smile. “So you two… haven’t gotten… close? Recently?”

“I mean, we work together, so yeah, we’ve gotten closer, ‘cause we work together…” Spot knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. What was wrong with him? He was never like this.

“Spot.” She was shaking her head. Eyes closed, a small smile slowly spreading across her face. “Just stop. Do you like him?”

He could feel the heat rising into his face. Quickly. Shit. “In what way do you mean?” A small laugh escaped Sarah’s lips. “We’re friends. So I like him as a friend. Any other ways you had in mind?”

“Spot, you’ve been my best friend for like fifteen? Sixteen years? I know you. You get flustered every time you look at him.” Spot winced, but she kept going. “And when you talk to him, shit, Spot. You’re a fucking mess. So I’m calling bull on this ‘no homo’ bullshit you have going on. Is this internalized homophobia or what? Do you just-”

“Please, Sarah. Not now.” He opened his mouth to continue as their food arrived, then closed it again and sighed loudly.

Sarah waited an agonizingly long thirty seconds before continuing. “All I’m saying is that it’s been two months. At least figure out what you feel for him, because it’s at least something.” She paused again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put all this on you on Christmas. I just love you and-”

“I love you too, Sarah.”

Sarah sighed. “Just… promise me you’ll talk to me about this shit. I get worried.”

“I promise, Sarah. You don’t have to worry about me.” Spot stretched his hand across the table and put it over Sarah’s, smiling softly at her. “Alright, let’s not talk ‘bout this anymore for right now. How ‘bout we eat?”

Sarah grinned and picked up her fork, then pulled her plate of pancakes closer. “Yes! I’m starving.”

After breakfast, Sarah and Spot walked around for a bit, taking in the icicles on the trees and the snow that had once again begun falling from the sky in light, delicate flakes. Then it was time to head to Jack and Specs’.

They were two of the first people to arrive. Jack and Specs were there, of course, as were Davey, Les, and Crutchie, all lounging around the living room.

Sarah laughed as she walked in. “Of course the Jews are the ones who show up early for Christmas.”

This got a laugh from everyone else, too, and Sarah left Spot’s side to go sit between her brothers on the couch, placing her present under the tree on the way. Specs glanced at Spot’s own present, still in his hand, neatly wrapped in green paper and topped with a bow.

“You wrap that yourself, Spot?” He asked with a cheeky grin. “Sure is a nice job.” Spot rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Specs, now come off it,” he retorted, shoving Specs aside with his shoulder a little too hard to be playful and setting the present next to Sarah’s. Then he sat on the end of the couch, content to sit there quietly and listen while Les regaled his brother and sister with tales of his first semester of senior year.

“And in Physics the other day, Mrs. Mullen totally-”

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting Les. Sarah jumped up enthusiastically and opened the door, revealing Smalls, Finch, Mush, and Blink. They all came in with smiles and greetings and presents, and after a while the living room had filled up as more people arrived. And somehow, Race had ended up on the couch, sitting snugly against Spot to make room for other people. And once in a while, Race’s hand would accidentally brush Spot’s, and Spot had to pretend that his heart didn’t flutter a little every time it happened.

Soon, everyone was there, talking and joking, and Specs clapped his hands a couple of times to get their attention.

“Alright, guys,” he said once the room was quiet, “who’s ready to exchange some gifts?”

“The people want food, Specs!” Sarah called. Everyone laughed. Specs blushed a little in embarrassment, but he grinned.

“Of course! How could I ever forget?” He dramatically gestured to the kitchen. “There’s a spread of refreshments in there, prepared by Crutchie and yours truly. Paper plates are on the side. Help yourselves!”

“Didn’t you just eat breakfast, Sarah?” Spot asked under his breath, grinning. Before she could respond, Race tapped Spot’s shoulder.

“Get you a drink?”

Spot spun around quickly to face him, almost accidentally falling into his lap in the process, and Race laughed. “Careful.”

“Uh…sorry, yeah, I’d love a drink.”

Race nodded, still grinning, and got up, heading for the kitchen. Sarah nudged Spot with her elbow.

“Smooth,” she whispered. Spot felt his face turn red and took deep breaths to calm his heart rate as Race returned, two bottles in his hands.

“The finest House IPA,” Race joked. “I know it’s your favorite.”

“You know, Spot, I’ve never figured out how you became a complete lesbian stereotype.” Sarah evidently couldn’t stop her hysteric laughter. “Your taste in beer. The flannels. The beanies. The-”

“Yes, Sarah. We get it.” Spot could still feel an unstoppable grin spreading across his face. He glanced over to see Race holding back a laugh of his own.

Having Sarah close by made it easier, somehow. When she was there to break the tension, Spot felt like it was just a little easier to breathe, even when Race’s hand brushed his again as he handed him the beer bottle.

For a while, everyone ate and talked some more, until Specs stood up again.

“Now it really is time to exchange gifts,” he announced with a laugh. Everyone cheered.

The presents were handed out to their respective recipients, and soon the room was full of boisterous laughter and wrapping paper and ribbons.

Spot turned his head before opening his present to find that Race had done the same. “You go first,” Spot initiated after a pause.

Race smiled. “You sure?” Spot nodded.

He could feel his chest getting tight, his heart racing as Race tore into the wrapping paper.

“Hey look! A box! Thank you, Conlon, I’ve been wanting one for a while!”

Spot rolled his eyes, laughing slightly. “Look inside the box, Higgins.”

Race carefully removed the top of the box and peered inside. “Pointe shoes?”

“Not for you to wear, obviously. They’re signed by Megan Fairchild. I know how much you love her.”

Race bit his lip as he looked back at Spot, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Well, that’s good. I think they’d be a bit small for me, anyway.” They both laughed. “Thank you, Spot. I love them.”

And when he leaned forward to give Spot a hug, Spot’s heart threatened to beat right out of his chest.

“Alright, Conlon.” Race’s voice cut through Spot’s thoughts, and he looked up with a start. “Your turn.”

The package in Race’s hand was flat and square. Wrapped surprisingly neatly for something he assumed Race had wrapped himself. Spot took it from him and carefully slid his thumb through the tape, keeping the paper intact. The wrapping paper fell to the floor to reveal a sleek black frame, inside of which was a vinyl record.

He leaned closer to the glass, reading the small words on the label Race had made. “Elton John. Tiny Dancer.”

“Remember that choreo you did? Senior year?”

Spot felt his smile reappear as he remembered. “Of course.”

Race put his arm around Spot’s shoulders, causing his head to spin. Maybe it was the alcohol?

“Do you like it?”

Spot rested his head on Race’s muscular shoulder for a moment, then looked up at him. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

And when Race moved to hug him again, for once he felt perfectly in control. Maybe he did have a crush on Race. But right now, he was perfectly content in his platonic embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/  
> My co-author's tumblr: https://fucking-petticoated-swashbuckler.tumblr.com/  
> Read Chapter 4 on tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/post/172079198258/tiny-dancer-part-4


	5. Chapter 5

A beeping noise woke Race up with a start. Blinking his eyes open and groaning, he rolled into his side to grab his phone.

A text from Spot. At 8 am. Wonderful.

“what time will you be at the nye party?”

Beep.

“I don’t wanna show up too early.”

What he wasn’t going to say was that Spot Conlon could show up to any party at any time and not be questioned.

He looked back at his phone and typed a message. “probably about 7:30.”

Oh god, Spot was typing. A few agonizing seconds passed before he got a response. “I’ll stop by on my way there?”

Showing up to yet another party together. Yeah, sure. That sounded great. It seemed like one more time, and their friends would start to think they were dating or something.

Race had imagined that possibility before. But the closest real life had come to that was a week ago. On Christmas. When they’d hugged more than once in a single day.

He shook his head to clear his mind before typing out another text. “sure. see you then.”

He set his phone back down and rolled back onto his side, falling back asleep almost immediately.

The next time Race opened his eyes, he looked back at the clock. 12:47. PM. He had slept for almost thirteen hours, but he supposed it made sense after all the choreography work he had done the day before. He debated staying in bed a little longer; after all, he had nothing to do until Spot came over before the party. Oh, wow, Spot was coming over before the party. He checked his messages again to make sure the exchange wasn’t just a weird dream he had had, and sure enough, there it was. Race felt a little jolt in his gut, like what happened sometimes when he was nervous.

Wait. Was he nervous about this? Spot was just dropping by. They were just going to the party as friends. Huh. Friends. Yeah, sure, Race was pretty sure he had a crush on Spot - no, scratch that, he was definitely sure he had a crush on Spot, but it wasn’t like Spot liked him back. Maybe-

But then his stomach growled, interrupting his rapidly spiraling thoughts, and Race sighed, .

Oh, yeah. Humans needed food to survive.

Since it was almost 1 now, Race deemed it an appropriate time to have leftover pizza for breakfast. He heated it up and scarfed down a few slices while he watched a few episodes of Friends.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Another text from Spot. “be at your place 5:15? we can hang before we have to leave.”

He paused before answering. “yeah, sure.”

Race glanced at his watch. 3 o’clock. Just over two hours until Spot would arrive. Before he realized what he was doing, the couch and coffee table were against the walls. He plugged his phone into the speakers, selected a random playlist, and began to move.

Yo-Yo Ma, playing The Swan. Saint-Saëns.

The more he danced, the more his ballet movements turned to lyrical, though it took a lot of concentration to completely let go of his ballet technique.

Arabesque to penché. Enveloppé to retiré. Double fouetté, double fouetté, land in arabesque.

Not caring about the steps, Race focused only on matching his musicality to Yo-Yo Ma’s phrasing.

Chassé derrière, rond de jambe à terre, fondu rond de jambe en l’air, chassé devant to attitude.

Allongé, cloche to tendu devant. Cambré derrière, close to fifth.

Rond de jambe en dehors to one knee. Révérence.

Race lost sense of time; all he felt was the music coursing through him as he moved gracefully around the living room.

He didn’t know how many pieces he danced through, but when Race glanced at his watch again, he was surprised to see that a little more than an hour had passed. 4:07.

As he looked down, his legs and abs began to burn with soreness, and his clothes stuck to him with sweat. Exhaling loudly, he filled up a large glass of water and downed it quickly before making his way to the bathroom.

Race turned the faucet on the bathtub about three-quarters to “hot” and let the water run while he went to his bedroom to lay out clothes for the party. It wasn’t that he cared that much about what he wore tonight, but he knew Spot liked to look nice for stuff like this, and they were showing up together, after all, so it would be good to look presentable.

He spent an embarrassingly long time choosing an outfit, but finally Race decided, and when he had laid everything out on his bed, he was proud. Black skinny jeans, a white button-down, a dark blue bomber jacket to go on top, and his black high top converse.

By the time he walked back into the bathroom, the bath was mostly full. Race poured in half a bag of Epsom salts, turned off the water, and undressed before sliding into the tub, sighing in relief when the warm water hit his sore muscles. He grabbed his phone from where it sat on the toilet and selected another playlist, and soon the sounds of Debussy were floating through the air. Race sank deeper into the water, finally able to relax and let the bath do its job. Sometimes he hummed along to the music or tapped his fingers against the rim of the tub, but mostly he just sat there, head back, listening.

Race wasn’t sure how long he was in the bath, but he must have nodded off at some point, because the next thing he knew, the sound of knocking at the front door cut through the music and startled him out of his relaxed haze. Drying his hand and reaching for his phone, he turned it on and checked the time. 5:18. Shit.

Spot had arrived.

Starting to drain the tub, Race stood up, quickly grabbed his towel, wiped off his upper body, and wrapped it hastily around his hips.

He felt his whole face turn red as he opened his front door to see Spot Conlon- wide-eyed, eyebrows raised, and beginning to blush as well before Race caught Spot’s gaze flit down for the smallest instant before meeting his eyes again.

Wait. Did Spot look flustered?

If so, it was probably only because Race was half naked and soaking wet.

Race inhaled deeply before breaking the silence. “I… uh, fell asleep. In the bath.”

Spot’s face relaxed, and he raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “… I see.”

Race bit his lip momentarily before gesturing inside his apartment. “I’ll just… get dressed? You can come in.”

“Alright, then.” Spot did just that and sat on the couch. Race closed the door. All he wanted to do was get dressed as soon as possible, but maybe it was the continuous prompting from Davey to “be a good host” that made Race hesitate.

“Do you, uh…want something to drink? I have water…uh, soda-”

“I can grab it,” Spot said, cutting him off and grinning. “You just worry about gettin’ some pants on.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Uh…be right back.” Race hurried to his bedroom and shut the door, releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Did he really just try to offer Spot Conlon a drink, while wearing nothing but a towel? Race pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration for a moment and sighed. He really was hopeless, wasn’t he?

Race shook his head, trying in vain to forget that the past couple of minutes had happened, and went to his bed, where his clothes were lying. He got dressed, tucking in the shirt and slipping the jacket on over it, then went to the bathroom and ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times until it looked decent. Race looked at himself in the mirror and couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

I look pretty damn good.

As he walked out of his room, Spot nodded approvingly before standing up and walking over to Race.

“Ya look great. Ya just… look like a lawyer. Here.” Race held his breath as Spot reached up to his collar and proceeded to undo the two top buttons. “’S a party, Higgins, not a job interview.”

Race laughed genuinely, but still trying to conceal his awkwardness.

“You always did know how to dress for a party,” he said without thinking and immediately felt his face flush in embarrassment. Smooth, Race.

But then Spot laughed, too, and Race relaxed just a little bit.

“Ha. Thanks.” Spot bit his lip as he smiled, which Race couldn’t help but think of as endearing.

They sat in silence for a minute before Race spoke. “You know what? Let’s just go upstairs now. You’re Sarah’s best friend anyway; it’s not like you’re not always there.”

“I mean, yer not wrong,” Spot said with an amused grin. “Maybe Sarah and Kath still need help settin’ up.” He walked to the door, opened it, and gestured dramatically. “After you.”

Race laughed a little as he walked past, turning back when he was in the hallway to lock the door as Spot stood beside him. They walked up the stairs together, and soon they were at Sarah and Katherine’s apartment, just two floors above Race’s. Spot knocked on the door and after a few seconds, it swung open to reveal Sarah, still in a t-shirt and shorts, but with her hair up in a loose bun and secured with a gold clip.

“Hey, you two,” she said with a grin, throwing Spot a (not so) subtle wink. Spot rolled his eyes, but Race thought he could see the tiniest flush in his cheeks. “Come on in. I’m glad you’re here, actually; Kath and I could use just a little help.”

Race nudged Spot as they followed Sarah inside. “Looks like you were right.”

He giggled a bit as Spot nudged him back. “I always am, Higgins.”

Sarah disappeared into her room, and Katherine waved at Race and Spot from the kitchen, an oven mitt on her hand, when they entered the living room. “Hey, guys. Glad you’re here. Could you do me a solid and move the furniture so we can have some room for dancing?”

“Sure thing, Kath,” Race replied. He and Spot got to it, and he realized that they worked well together, even if it was just moving the couch and a couple of armchairs to strategic locations. They didn’t have to say anything; both just seemed to know where everything should go and how to move it there, and soon there was a sizable space in the living room, plenty big enough for dancing.

“How’s that?” Spot asked. Before Katherine could reply, Sarah emerged from her bedroom, now dressed in a short-sleeved, slightly sheer black top and sparkly skirt, gold heeled sandals on her feet. She grinned at Spot and Race.

“There’s so much room now!” She exclaimed, walking into the middle of the space and doing a little dance. “Tonight’s gonna be so much fun.”

“Sarah!” Katherine called. “You have time for dancing later. Come help me in here.”

Sarah rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Coming.” She glanced over her shoulder at Spot and Race, who were still standing next to the couch they had just moved. “You guys can chill. We just have to pour some drinks and stuff.”

Did she wink at Spot again before disappearing into the kitchen? Race couldn’t tell.

Spot’s cheeks turned the slightest shade pinker. She definitely had winked at him. Race had no time to think on that, however, before becoming intensely conscious of Spot placing his hand on the small of Race’s back and walking with him to the couch, sitting down almost a little too close to be platonic. Was this Spot’s way of nonverbally flirting?

The two sat for a while, avoiding eye contact but still stealing glances in the other’s direction. Spot finally opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but before he could, they both heard music drift in from the kitchen.

“Come on, babe, why don’t we paint the town… and all that jazz…” Sarah appeared in the doorway, lip-syncing along to the music now playing from the bluetooth speaker, Katherine was behind her, red-faced, laughing, and miming playing a trumpet.

“Question,” Spot interjected as the music continued, Sarah’s dancing getting more outrageous by the second. “How much have the two of you had to drink already? Sarah, this is normal for you, but Kath?”

“Hey!” Katherine tried to look offended, but she was still laughing too hard. “I like to have fun…and I’ve only had a glass of wine. I’ll be right back.” She backed out of the room, leaving Sarah still dancing, and hurried back into the kitchen.

Spot laughed and shook his head, glancing at Race before grabbing his hand and dragging him to the middle of the floor. “Come on, Higgins. If Sar’s going to dance, we might as well join her.”

“Spot, the party hasn’t even actually started,” Race tried to protest, freaking out a little at the thought of even more physical contact with Spot.

“Hey, it’s never too early to party,” Spot said. “Besides, we can’t leave Sarah all alone, can we?”

Rolling his eyes, Race raised the hand Spot was holding. “Fine. Twirl!”

“What?”  
Race grinned. “You heard me.”

Now it was Spot’s turn to roll his eyes, but he did as Race said, twirling quickly and trying to hide his smile. Then he turned to Race. “Now you.”

Race dramatically twirled, making it graceful even when he had to duck a little to fit all the way under Spot’s arm. He grinned. “You’re too short for this, Conlon. Maybe you should be the designated twirler.”

“Fuck off, Higgins.” But Spot was laughing now. He even twirled again just for fun, and Race’s face lit up. They danced a bit more, and the song was just ending when Katherine came back out of the kitchen, looking frazzled.

“Sarah, shit, we forgot to get ice,” she said. “And there’s not much time till everyone gets here, and I haven’t finished making the-”

“Kath, it’s okay,” Sarah interrupted, already grabbing her coat. “The store’s not far.”

“Change into your running shoes,” Katherine said. “You don’t want to get blisters before the party even starts.”  
“You’re right. Thanks, Kath.” Sarah grinned at her and slipped off her heels before pulling on a pair of sneakers that were sitting by the front door.

“Spot, could you go with her?” Katherine asked with a sheepish smile. “I know it’s not far, but people are crazy on holidays, y’know?”

Spot nodded immediately. “’Course.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.” Sarah’s tone was sarcastic, but there was still a grin on her face. “Race, you wanna come, too?”  
“Actually, Race,” Katherine said. “I need some help putting up lights if you’re okay staying here?”

Race swallowed his disappointment at being separated from Spot for even a few minutes and nodded. “Sure, Kath. No problem.”  
She smiled at him. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”

“We’ll be back soon.” Sarah was out the door then, and Spot squeezed Race’s shoulder for the briefest second before following her and closing the door behind him.

Race turned away from the door and spent the better part of the next forty-five minutes helping Katherine string up some extra lights inside the apartment.

“So, Race…” Katherine handed him another string of lights to put up. “Sarah’s mentioned it more than a couple of times…how about you and Spot?”

Race nearly fell off the stool he was standing on to be able to reach the place where the wall met the ceiling, and he did drop the string of lights. Katherine caught them and handed them back. “I guess that means there’s something going on, then?”

“Um… no? Not yet at least.” Race shook his head. “Wait, I didn’t mean- Kath!”

Katherine rolled her eyes as she fought off a laugh.

“It’s not like he even likes me back.”

Race narrowed his eyes at Katherine as she burst out laughing this time, trying to catch her breath.

“Race.”

“What?”

“Race,” she said again, her voice trembling with mirth. “Sweetie. I’m going to need you to think about what you just said.”

“About Spot?” Race frowned. “But, I mean, it’s true-”

“No, it’s not!” Katherine was still grinning, but her tone was exasperated. “Haven’t you noticed? You’re both head over heels for each other and too stubborn to admit it. For goodness sake, Race, he came over to your place two hours early just to be with you.”

Race just stared at her as he struggled to process this. Spot couldn’t like him back, he just thought of them as friends…right? But then Race thought about all the little touches, the jokes, the laughter, every single interaction they had had over the past few months. And Spot had asked to come over early. Very early.

“Holy shit, does Spot like me back?”

“Took you this long.” Katherine smiled and shook her head, reaching to touch Race’s arm. “Hey, if you play your cards right, you might have a new year’s kiss.”

Race sighed a little and looked at her. “You really think so?”

“Definitely.” She winked at him. “Okay, but first, help me finish putting these up.” She gestured toward the remaining strings of lights. “People will be arriving any minute.”

“Oh…oh, yeah! Sorry.” Race grabbed the lights and put them up quickly, then stepped off the stool and put it back by the counter. “Alright, you need any more help?”

“Um…” Katherine glanced around the living room, then shook her head after a moment. “Nope, I think we’re done.”

“Cool.”

The front door opened then, and Race and Katherine turned to see Sarah and Spot walk in, Spot carrying a couple of bags of ice and Sarah carrying a bottle of margarita mix.

“What?” She said innocently at Katherine’s raised eyebrow. “I didn’t want us to run out in the middle of the party.”

“Uh-huh.” Katherine rolled her eyes. “Go put it in the kitchen, you alcoholic.”

Sarah laughed and hurried into the kitchen, beckoning for Spot to follow her so he could put the ice down. They came back out a couple of minutes later, and Spot made a beeline for Race and nudged him playfully with his shoulder. Race grinned and nudged him back.

“How was your adventure with Sarah?” He asked. Spot laughed.

“I wouldn’t call it that; it was nothin’ compared to some of our other exploits,” he replied, but didn’t elaborate. After the talk he had had with Katherine, Race couldn’t help but wonder if Sarah had subjected Spot to something similar.

“Hey, you wanna sit down for a while before more people get here?” He asked. Spot nodded, and they went back to the couch. And this time, Race made sure to sit a little closer than perhaps was strictly necessary, and his heart soared when Spot didn’t scoot away.

Sarah grabbed her heels and sat down on the couch next to them to change shoes again. When she was done, she stood up and tossed her sneakers back against the wall near the door.

“Alight, I’m ready to party,” she said with a grin. “When’s everyone getting here again?”

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Katherine went to answer it as Sarah pulled up a playlist on her phone and started it. Music blasted out of the speaker again, echoing around the apartment.

Katherine pulled the door open, and let in Jack, Specs, Davey, Crutchie, and Les.

“Happy New Year, Kathy!” Jack exclaimed, grabbing her in a tight hug. She laughed and hugged him back.

“We still have a few hours till then, Kelly,” she said.

“Yeah, but we can start celebrating now!” Jack let go of Katherine, then he grabbed Specs and dragged him into the middle of the living room to dance.

“He may have had a beer or two before we left,” Davey said, and Katherine laughed. She pulled Sarah into the middle as well.

Within the hour, everyone else had shown up, and soon the apartment was filled with people and laughter and music. Tearing his gaze away from his dancing friends, Race turned his head to glance at Spot, who was standing by the TV on the opposite side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, a cup in his hand, and he was bobbing his head to the beat of the music. After a few seconds, Race’s feet began to carry him in Spot’s direction until he arrived next to him.

“Party’s fun.” Spot commented, turning his head toward Race. “Surprised you’re not dancin’.”

“I mean, I did a bit of dancing earlier,” Race replied, “before you came over. It wasn’t much, just some improv…anyway, I guess I’m still a little sore from that. I might dance later.

Spot nodded, and they stood there next to each other for a few more minutes in comfortable silence. Race opened his mouth to say…well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say. But he didn’t get the chance, because Led Zeppelin’s Thank You started playing, and Spot noticeably perked up.

“Oh, I love this song,” he said.

Something in Race’s brain clicked, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed Spot’s hand.

“Spot Conlon,” he said with a cheesy grin. “May I have this dance?”

Spot couldn’t hide a grin of his own. “Yeah, Higgins. You may.”

Race made a few failed attempts to control his racing heart rate as Spot tenderly placed his hands on Race’s hips. He put his own on Spot’s shoulders, and they began to sway with the music. “So we haven’t had really a whole lotta time to talk today,” Spot said. “What with the decoratin’ and me havin’ to go with Sarah to get ice.”

“So…” Now that they had a chance to actually talk to each other, Race couldn’t think of anything to say. Thoughts were flying around in his head a million miles an hour, and he just concentrate when he could feel every one of Spot’s fingers gently touching his hips, his back, his waist. Was it his imagination, or did Spot pull him closer, just slightly?

As he focused back in on reality, he could hear Spot quietly singing along.

“If the sun refused to shine, I would still be lovin’ you…” He glanced up at Race, who immediately blushed. After a second, Spot stopped singing and turned just the tiniest bit pink as well. Race could barely wrap his mind around it - he was at a party, dancing with Spot Conlon to a love song. And there was a very good chance Spot was thinking the same thing about him.

“You’re…you’re a good singer,” Race said and immediately mentally kicked himself. Was that seriously the best thing he could come up with? But Spot just laughed a little.

“I’m alright, I guess,” he replied. “Far from the best. There’s a reason I mostly just stick with playing the piano.”

“And dancing?” Race glanced over. “You were one of the best dancers in our classes in high school. I haven’t seen you dance in forever.”

“You know, I haven’t really danced in forever. Aside from, ya know, this kinda thing.”

“You should,” Race said. “I could…I mean, maybe we could do something in the studio after class one day. Um…dance, I mean.”

Spot grinned. “I’d like that…the dancing, I mean.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Race laughed despite the heat he felt in his cheeks.

“Cool,” he replied. “Then it’s a date.”

“That it is.”

Jesus. A date? Really?

As the song ended, Spot turned his head toward the kitchen. “Do ya wanna get some food?”

Race nodded. “Yeah, I’m famished.”

Spot let go of Race’s waist, but immediately grabbed his hand. They passed Katherine and Sarah, who were dancing to the next song, and Katherine flashed Race a grin and a thumbs-up. The kitchen was blessedly empty; everyone else was still in the living room or on the outside balcony, though Race couldn’t imagine how they managed it with the snow that covered every inch.

Race went to the counter, where there was spread of refreshments laid out, and put a little bit of everything on his plate.

“So.” Spot’s voice made Race turn his head.

“So?”

Spot smiled a bit. “I dunno, I was hopin’ you’d have something ta talk about.”

“I, um…” Race grabbed a few crackers from his plate and stuffed them in his mouth in an attempt to stall for a few seconds. But Spot just continued to smile at him. God, why was he being so awkward?

This whole thing was harder than he’d imagined.

Fuck it. Time to dive in.

“We’ve…we’ve been hanging out these past few months. It’s been really fun, Spot. Every class is more fun with you there playing the piano, and-” he paused to take a breath. “And I’m just really glad you came to be my accompanist because now we’re friends again and we see each other every day-”

“Yeah, Higgins. Me too.” Spot stole a cracker from Race’s plate and ate it with a smirk. “It’s fun playin’ the piano for your dancin’, too. You’re really good at it. It’s beautiful to watch.”

“I can’t be much better than you were ten years ago.”

“You sure about that?”

Race laughed a bit before responding. “You were always the best dancer at our studio. In every style, except maybe not tap.” He smirked. “I think I had you there.”

Now it was Spot’s turn to laugh. “I think you’re right.”

“I wish I could see you dance again.” Wait, did Race just say that?

“You’ve seen me dance,” Spot replied. “Out there in the living room a few minutes ago.”

“That wasn’t dancing and you know it. It was more…swaying than anything.”

“It fuckin’ counts, Tony,” Spot retorted through laughter.

Race blinked a few times before raising an eyebrow. “Did you just- you didn’t call me by my last name.”

Spot’s face turned the slightest shade of pink. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, it’s fine.” The corner of Race’s mouth turned up as his head lowered, allowing his eyes to focus on his feet, or the floor- anything but making eye contact with Spot. “No one’s really used my first name in forever, nickname or otherwise.”

“I get that.” Race felt Spot put his hand on his shoulder. God, why did his heart race every single time Spot touched him? What would happen if he just kissed him right here?

Spot’s voice brought him back to reality. “Is it…is it okay if I call you by it? If you don’t want me to, it’s fine-”

“I’d like it if you called me ‘Tony’ more,” Race interrupted. “It’s…it’s nice to hear it again, especially coming from you.”

Spot grinned. “Okay then, Tony. You want another drink?”

“Sure.”

Spot grabbed a pitcher that sat on the counter near the food and poured some of the reddish liquid into their empty cups. He handed Race’s back to him. “Gotta love Sarah’s mixed drinks.”

Race laughed and took a sip, grimacing just a little at the taste. “‘Mixed’ is a strong word. I think there’s more tequila in here than anything else.”

“It has margarita mix in it. But yeah, I guess you could call it ‘flavored tequila.’” Spot chuckled, then put his arm around Race’s waist and briefly rested his head on his chest before Race returned the hug. Wow, that’s gay. Or… bi, I guess.

Race raised his right arm, checking his watch. “It’s about nine. What do you wanna do for three hours?”

When Spot lifted his chin to look Race in the eye, Race could see the faint shadows Spot’s eyelashes cast onto his high cheekbones. “I dunno. We could-” He grabbed Race’s hand, pulling his torso to face him. “-dance some more?”

Race giggled slightly, grinning. “In here?”

Spot shrugged. “Why not? We can hear the music, we don’t hafta be around all those people…”

“Alright.” In a move more forward than he thought he could be at the moment, Race grabbed Spot by the waist and pulled him close. “Let’s dance.”

Race didn’t know how long they ended up dancing. All he cared about what was the way they inched closer and closer to each other, until finally Spot had his arms wrapped around Race’s waist, and his head was resting on his shoulder. Race’s heart skipped a beat when Spot pulled him closer by the waist, seemingly unknowingly.

The kitchen door opened abruptly, pulling Race out of his trance. Sarah poked her head through. “Few minutes ‘til midnight. You two planning on watching the ball drop? Or you just gonna hide out in here…alone?”

Spot smiled, turning his head toward Sarah, still keeping his hands on Race’s waist. “We’ll be out in a sec, Sar. Give us a minute.”

“Alright, whatever you say.” As Sarah slowly closed the door, Spot looked back at Race.

Race inhaled slowly. “What was that about?”

“Tony.”

“Yeah?”

Spot took a deep breath. “Tony, I-”

“Thirty! Twenty-nine!” From outside the door, they could hear everyone counting down.

“We should go out there.”

Race nodded. “Yeah.” His heart sank, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. Spot grabbed his hand, almost dragging him out to the living room.

“Nine! Eight! Seven!” Spot and Race joined in the enthusiastic chanting.

“Three! Two! One!”

Everyone cheered, clamoring to see the ball drop as each couple paired off.

Race glanced down at Spot before pulling him close. “Can I-”

Before Race could finish, Spot reached up, sliding his hand over the back of Race’s neck and rising onto his toes, pressing his lips to Race’s. Race’s eyes widened before slipping closed, and he returned the kiss in kind.

They pulled apart to cheers from the others.

“It’s about time,” Sarah called, leaning on Katherine. Race grinned at them, and when he turned back to Spot, he saw that he was grinning, too.

“Happy New Year, Tony,” Spot whispered before pulling him in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/  
> My co-author's tumblr: https://fucking-petticoated-swashbuckler.tumblr.com/  
> read this chapter on my tumblr: https://poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow.tumblr.com/post/173165335528/tiny-dancer-part-5


	6. Chapter 6

Spot blinked his eyes open groggily, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. His head began to pound for a few seconds before returning to a bearable amount of pain.  _ Great _ .

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hungover, but at least it wasn’t that bad. Still confused, he continued to take stock of his situation. Race Higgins was in bed next to him, his head on Spot’s chest and Spot’s arm around Race’s shoulders. 

In  _ Race’s _ bed. 

“Holy shit, “ Spot couldn’t help but whisper.

“You got that right,” a sleepy voice responded, and Spot looked down to see Race grinning blearily at him.

Spot smiled back for a second before speaking again. “What happened? I mean, did we…”

“Nah.” Race sat up, sliding back to sit against the head of the bed. “But for once you were more drunk than I was. And this-” He gestured. “This was your idea, one hundred percent.”

Spot raised his eyebrows, feeling his face turn red. “That right?”

“Crashing at my place, yeah.”

“...well, it wasn’t a bad plan.”

“It sure wasn’t.” Race grabbed Spot’s hand. “Do you, uh...want some breakfast? I don’t know what I have in the kitchen, but…”

“Or we could stay here for a bit?” Spot wrapped his arms around Race’s waist, pulling him closer, savoring the moments when the hem of Race’s shirt lifted slightly and his fingers delicately brushed against the skin on his back. Race turned his head, burying his grin in his pillow before placing a small peck on Spot’s forehead. 

“C’mon, I’m hungry,” he whined, tugging on Spot’s arm. “Maybe I have some flour or something...we could make pancakes?”

Spot laughed as he finally stood up. “Please tell me you don’t think flour is the only thing you need to make pancakes.” 

“You have a better idea?”

“Let’s just go see what you have, you dork,” Spot said with a grin, sliding his arm around Race’s waist and forcing himself to breathe when Race laid his own over Spot’s shoulders, pulling him close and half dragging him to the kitchen. As Race reached up to open a high cabinet, the hem of his shirt lifted a bit and Spot felt his face turn hot. He averted his eyes, trying in vain not to focus on Race’s toned stomach peeking from beneath the hem of his shirt. 

“Alright, it looks like I have...ready-to-make pancake mix, yes!” Race grabbed the box and closed the cabinet. “See, we don’t even need any of that other stuff because everything’s already in this box.”

Spot raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Too good to make  _ real _ pancakes, I see?”

“Some of us aren’t culinary  _ gods _ , Spot.”

Spot just laughed and looked in the refrigerator. “Fine. How ‘bout we make some pancakes -oh, here are some strawberries- and then go out for coffee or somethin’, ‘cause I know you don’t have any of that.”

“I have in-”

“If you say you have instant, I’m gonna smack you.”

“It’s convenient, Spot!”

“’S garbage is what it is.” Spot laughed lightly. “God, Tony, I thought you were a real Italian.”

“Shut up,” Race teased, tousling Spot’s hair. 

“Make me.”

And even though he was hoping for it, Spot was still more than a little surprised when Race grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed their lips together. So this was their lives, at least for the time being. Explicit flirting and casual kisses.

Didn’t sound too bad.

When they finally pulled apart, Race paused. “Fine. We’ll go out. Maybe somewhere with pancakes?”

“Are you backing out on your ‘it’s all the ingredients in one, it’ll be perfect’ plan?” Spot asked with a grin.

Race rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m just lazy, and I’ve finally accepted it.”

“Right.” Spot grabbed the pancake mix from where it sat on the counter and put it back into the cabinet. “Well, I’m all for goin’ out. Sounds perfect. How ‘bout we ask Sarah and Kath to come along, too?”

“Do you think they’re even awake?”

“I’ll text Sarah and find out.”

Ten minutes passed and there was no answer. Race shrugged.

“I guess they’re still asleep,” he said.

Spot grinned. “They’re probably still hungover?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Either way, being in bed sounds like a fantastic idea right now.” Spot tugged on Race’s arm. “Breakfast can wait. It’s early, Higgins. Too early to go out in the cold and try to find good food on New Year’s Day.”

Race shook his head, smiling. “You’re right.” 

Spot pulled him out of the kitchen and back toward the bedroom before rolling back into bed and pulling Race on top of him. 

“See?” He whispered, running his hands through Race’s hair while they both laughed. “This is much better than breakfast.”


End file.
